


Solace

by rosamynal



Series: Cacoethes Scribendi [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Blood and Injury, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, One Shot, Reincarnation, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamynal/pseuds/rosamynal
Summary: Solus Galvus encounters someone he knew lifetimes ago.





	1. Jackal

**Author's Note:**

> Experimented with a bit of a different narrative style this time around.
> 
> Enjoy!

Bandit attacks had been growing more and more commonplace. Anyone and any_thing_ which bore the Garlean emblem was fair game: food supplies, medical supplies, building supplies, troops, nobility, merchants, peasants; the bandit group that had come to be known as the Jackals simply did not care. While they typically centered their attacks along the southern border, they were growing bolder and reaching further into Garlean territory.

What troops had been dispatched to deal with them typically did not return. Any few survivors that did make it back to friendly territory feverishly described moving shadows and attacking trees before succumbing to their poisoned wounds.

Of course, what hadn’t worked countless times before was bound to work this time, no? Well, children don’t know any better and what can one honestly expect from such _broken_ little things?

Having recently claimed the vessel he had been cultivating since its conception, Emet-Selch was not yet in a position where he could question orders due to being a simple decurion. So it was that the Ascian found himself leading his men into the Jackals’ territory, in what could only have been described as a suicide mission. 

He idly wondered who his vessel could have angered before he possessed it. Or perhaps it was jealousy? It must be that centurion; what was his name again? Decimus quo Cassian? Regardless, it meant he wouldn’t have to act any differently if Solus pyr Galvus already had a knack for annoying his superiors. Maybe he had cultivated the vessel a touch _too_ well.

Emet-Selch caught the faint flicker of a soul, deep in the woods to his right. He focused his senses on it as he led his men further into what felt like an ambush. It took the Ascian a moment to distinguish the color, due to it being washed out, but he smirked under his helmet the second he did. 

A desaturated midnight blue swirling with silver mist. And was it still—? Ah, there it was. A crystalline scar where the bond between two souls had been severed. He was well-acquainted with the mark, considering the similar one borne by his own soul.

What luck for Emet-Selch to come across _him_! It had been quite some time since he had last encountered that soul—must have been a Rejoining or two since they had last crossed paths. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a waste after all. His men’s lives were certainly forfeit, but oh what he could _gain_ from this encounter.

Other pale souls flitted about the trees, but those were inconsequential to Emet-Selch. He recognized their placement, however. A few more yalms and they would be in prime position for an ambush.

Now, what would be the best way to deal with the useless fragments and keep his prize mostly alive? Magic was completely out of the question; this vessel wasn’t supposed to be able to use it and it wouldn’t do to draw unnecessary suspicion just yet. Much as it bored the Ascian to tears, he would have to use more mundane tactics.

He waited until the first volley of arrows felled one of his men and nicked two others before ordering them into a defensive formation. The next few pinged uselessly off their shields. By the wavering way his injured men held their shields, he assumed the venom used by the bandits was already coursing through them. Useless wretches, the lot of them.

Emet-Selch waited until he had a visual on the archers before issuing orders to his men. To their credit, the Garleans killed three of their six shadowy ambushers. Ah, make that seven—he had failed to notice the one hiding in the canopy above them. That one would prove irksome to bring down; perhaps he should have brought an archer or two of his own. Next time.

Now in close quarters, the three remaining Jackals on the ground drew their swords while the fourth continued peppering them with arrows. They managed to kill two more as another of his men fell to the incessant insect’s projectiles. Three more arrows found their marks in three of his men, killing one and injuring the other two when they attempted to fetch the bows of their fallen enemies and aim for the archer above them.

Emet-Selch and his four other men focused on the final grounded Jackal. The Ascian checked the man’s soul, only to find it might as well have been beige for all its blandness. A useless worm, so where was _he_? Why hadn’t he joined in the ambush? An unwillingness to battle would have been a first for his fractured soul. 

A thud behind them informed Emet-Selch the pest over their heads had been taken care of, even as one of his men succumbed to the venom. A shame the medicus had been the first to fall; although he wasn’t sure they had an antidote for whatever the bandits used on their weapons. Oh well. They would die, their souls would be recycled, and perhaps their next lifetime would be spent somewhere with a better climate.

Two of his uninjured men managed to restrain the Jackal, while his third healthy soldier tried tending to the doomed injured. Emet-Selch demanded the bandit tell him where to find their leader. The response was typical: a ball of spit aimed at the Ascian’s face to which he responded with a nearly instinctive knee to the bandit’s groin. 

He offered the bandit another chance. This time, the groaning man motioned to one of the corpses. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes at the pitiful attempt at deceit. He might have fallen for it if he were a millennia or four younger. _Might_.

The Ascian tilted his head and purposefully tapped the heel of his boot against a tree. His men dragged the Jackal to it and pinned him in place. Emet-Selch grabbed the bandit’s right arm and held it out, readying his sword to chop off the hand. He gave the broken, pathetic attempt at a living creature one final chance. 

An arrow struck Emet-Selch in the shoulder, slipping between the plates of his armor. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground as two more arrows made their homes in the men restraining the bandit, instantly killing them. He slumped against the tree while the bandit attacked the remaining soldier, ignoring the three who already lay dying from the venom. 

A black-haired man stepped out onto the road, bow in hand. His yellow eyes burned into Emet-Selch as the Ascian turned to face him. A faint jolt down his spine informed him the venom was beginning to attack his vessel. He permitted himself a chuckle, the sound stopping the two mortals in their tracks.

“How kind of you to get rid of any witnesses,” he said, nodding at the corpses of his men. “It certainly makes this next part simpler.”

Flooding the vessel with his aether was enough to slow the venom’s progress. Emet-Selch snatched up the sword from where it had fallen with his left hand and charged the bandit. The black-haired man moved to protect the bandit, but the Ascian dodged around him and stabbed the final Jackal in the back. He withdrew the weapon, letting the fresh corpse fall to the ground.

The black-haired man snarled and drew his sword; the faded soul contained within him feebly flared up in fury. He attacked in a blind rage, the strength of his blows enough to make the Ascian pay full attention to his opponent.

After a few exchanges, Emet-Selch slipped his concealed knife into a space between the black-haired man’s ribs. The man gasped for air and blood immediately flowed from the wound as Emet-Selch pulled out the knife. Once he had disarmed his opponent, he leaned the man against the base of a tree. 

Despite the aether he had pumped into his vessel, the Ascian could feel the venom renewing its attack. A look at the man’s soul showed he was fighting against his own death, but was losing that battle as well. Emet-Selch had to work quickly. He knelt beside the dying Hyur and removed his helmet before he spoke.

“What would you do if you were immortal?” the Ascian asked conversationally. 

The man bared his teeth in a snarl. Emet-Selch sighed and shook his head.

“I’m afraid I still don’t speak Savage,” he said, using the same tone one would with a child throwing a tantrum. “Use your words like a civilized creature.”

“I would hunt you down,” the man growled.

Emet-Selch cocked an eyebrow.

“Rather short-sighted goal, isn’t it? What would you do if you managed to achieve it? Focus your ire on the next thing that tried to kill you? Cut a swathe of death across the land? That’s the problem with broken pieces; they’re unable to see the bigger picture.”

A renewed surge of rage roiled through the man. He surged forward and grabbed the opening of the other’s gorget, using it to pull the armored Ascian close. A fire burned in the man’s yellow eyes, matched only by the intensity of his voice.

“I would attack Garlemald until nothing remained but the scorched earth it once sat on.”

Half of a smile served as his immediate response to the dying man and he accompanied it with an amused hum.

“Have a bit of a vendetta against our little Republic, do you? I suppose destroying a nation is a grander goal—and not an easy task, I’ll admit. That should liven things up for a century or two at the very least.”

He removed the gauntlet on his right hand and snapped his fingers, ignoring the pain that coursed through his arm from his injured shoulder. A midnight blue crystal shard appeared hovering over his hand. If one peered closely, they would see silver and black streaks throughout the shard. A light faintly pulsed within as he presented it to the dying man. 

“Accepting this means striking a deal with the voidsent contained within. It will grant you immortality—in exchange for aether. Yours. Another’s. It likely doesn’t matter and I’m sure it’ll be willing to bargain if you give it a counteroffer. Surprisingly, it’s one of the more reasonable voidsent I’ve encountered.”

The man warily eyed the crystal before focusing his yellow gaze on Emet-Selch’s own pale gold eyes. 

“What are you?” he hissed, soul struggling to remain anchored in his body.

He allowed himself a sincere, yet sad, smile in the face of the dying man.

“You wouldn’t remember the specifics,” he confessed. “It is simpler to say that I am what you see.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

Emet-Selch shook his head; shoulders drooped in disappointment.

“Even that seems too difficult for you to comprehend. There’s no puzzle in what I say. I am currently what you see before you: a pureblooded Garlean offering you a chance at eternity. Should you accept it, you will gain power beyond your dreams. Should you decline, you will see what Death holds for you.”

“You three-eyed bastards can’t use magic.”

“And a Highlander such as yourself should have succumbed to his wound by now. We are each more than what we appear to be. Will you take the crystal or no?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth to force out a single word.

“Liar.”

Emet-Selch frowned at the insult. Why was the foolish thing being so stubborn? Oh. Wait. That was characteristic of the soul—fragmented or no. He had come to admire that resilience in the original; now it was simply a bother. Why was _she_ not here? She was always able to make the stubborn thing see reason.

“There was a time, ages past, when you knew that was unlikely—if impossible—for me. I speak the truth.”

The man hesitated; his eyes seeming glazed over. For a moment, Emet-Selch thought the entire process had taken too long and the miserable life within the creature snuffed out. 

He should have expected more from the sundered Wildling.

The soul defiantly flared up as one hand grasped the crystal. The trapped voidsent’s aether responded to the contact. It pierced the man’s hand and suffused with his aether, drawing a pained cry out of the Hyur. His grip tightened on the crystal while Emet-Selch leaned forward to observe the results of his little experiment. The voidsent’s aether had tinged that of the Hyur, but did not go so far as to corrupt it fully as had been previously theorized.

The man’s lips moved, but no words came out. It seemed he was arguing with someone; Emet-Selch assumed it to be the voidsent. A growl escaped the man as his soul flared in anger before subsiding. The man fell limp, slumping against the tree; crystal still in hand, but the pulsating light within it had gone dark.

The Ascian’s lips pressed into a thin line. Perhaps he had been wrong; there _were_ too many variables to the experiment. He would have to wait for both parts to reincarnate on their respective worlds to try again. How long would it take? Would the voidsent trust him a second time? It had already been hard enough convincing the thing to enter the crystal.

He pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. No, he had to try again. He hated to think that perhaps Igeyorhm had been right—even if souls were her specialty. A faint flicker caught his attention before he could turn his back on the corpse.

He really shouldn’t underestimate the man who taught _her_ everything she knew.

The man’s soul pulsed to a rhythm Emet-Selch could neither hear nor feel. The light returned to the crystal shard, echoing the beat of the man’s soul. Lifting his gaze to the Hyur’s face, the Ascian found himself the being stared at by a set of piercing yellow eyes. The man swallowed before noiselessly working his mouth for a few seconds. Words eventually came out—albeit hoarsely.

“Why did you help me?” he asked. A beat, then he added, “_Us_. Why did you help us?”

Emet-Selch forced a smirk while pushing back on the venom attacking his vessel. He had to get rid of the mortal so he could cleanse the vessel with his own magic. Granted, this fragment had essentially sworn to devote himself to wiping out Garlemald; it wouldn’t hurt to learn about the weapons at his disposal.

“I have my reasons. Although considering I’m not quite _enjoying_ the effects of your little sting, I would like to remind you what they say about good turns. Tell me you have an antidote.”

The man shook his head.

“We never bothered to create one since it only seems to affect Garleans.”

Well, that would be troublesome considering the plans Emet-Selch had drawn up for the race. That left him with two choices: either completely annihilate the source of the venom or create an antidote himself. The former he immediately decided was too much effort. The latter, however, involved getting a better sample of the venom that wasn’t the one currently running through his vessel.

“I might be able to treat the worst of the venom with magic,” the man suggested. “While my healing magic isn’t enough to rid you of it, I could try weakening it so your body has a chance to build up enough antivenin to combat the rest of it.”

Or he could let the sundered fragment of her mentor help. 

Devising a proper antidote from the antivenin in the vessel’s blood would be child’s play. It was certainly a better option than possibly taking too long to be rid of the Hyur and losing the vessel he had spent twenty-two years preparing. Of course, that length of time meant nothing when one had eternity to accomplish one’s goals, but Emet-Selch _loathed_ wasting his time.

The Ascian silently agreed to the plan by sitting beside the Hyur. Once he had carefully tucked the crystal into a pouch on his belt, the black-haired man slipped his fingers between the plates of Emet-Selch’s armor and channeled a healing spell into his shoulder. 

The venom slowed its advance. Emet-Selch redirected some of his aether to begin slowly countering its effects. He would still fall ill—which would help him sell the story of his survival to his superiors—but between the Hyur’s efforts and his own boost, the venom was no longer fatal.

The man’s dark eyebrows drew together as he gingerly stood up. He seemed to be staring through Emet-Selch, lips moving in a silent conversation with the creature now sharing his mind. When the Ascian asked what was wrong, the man suddenly refocused his gaze and shook his head.

“He was telling me a few things. I still don’t know what to make of what he says—much less my current situation,” the man confessed. His expression suddenly grew grim. “This mutual exchange changes nothing. If we meet again, I _will_ strive to kill you.”

Emet-Selch smirked and slowly climbed to his feet. 

“I would expect nothing more, savage. Until then.”

He turned on his heel and began the long walk back to the military castrum, waving goodbye to the black-haired bandit leader

After all this time, Emet-Selch could set his watch by Elidibus’ visits—at least, he could if he ever bothered to _wear_ a watch. The Emissary emerged from a rift and fell into step beside him. Before he could even contemplate ignoring the other Ascian, Elidibus opened his mouth.

“Have you grown so bored that you’ve decided to begin sabotaging _your own_ plans?”

Emet-Selch glanced at him from the corner of his eye and quirked the corresponding eyebrow without pausing his march.

“Were you watching from a secret hiding place?” he asked. “Pervert.”

The stoic Ascian ignored the jab and instead continued lecturing him. Honestly, he was spending too much time with Lahabrea these centuries.

“Igeyorhm, herself, said the souls of the Thirteenth are lost to the Void. Attempting to join one to the rest of the fractured shards is as pointless an endeavor as trying to fill a bottomless well. The tainted shard will only corrupt the others, eventually overpowering—and destroying—the original soul.”

He threw his hands up in silent exasperation, organizing his thoughts before presenting his argument.

“There is a chance, however miniscule, that if the remaining thirteen pieces are joined together before introducing the Voided fragment, then they may just be strong enough to overpower and cleanse the corruption. Success would mean the souls on the Thirteenth are _salvageable_.”

The other’s eyeroll was tangible behind his red mask.

“An idealistic thought. I believed you grown out of such naiveté, Emet-Selch. You gave the sundered soul a corrupt fragment when he is not even _halfway_ rejoined. What’s to stop the voidsent from forcing a reunion, thereby ruining your little experiment?”

“Because _this_ voidsent was amenable to a deal. If I introduce it to its matching fragments, then it would be willing to participate in the experiment as long as it could freely feed on aether. Its only other option before meeting me was to remain on the Thirteenth with the other voidsent and starve trying to claw its way to the Source.”

“And you believed it,” Elidibus muttered. “You know the voidsent will become greedy; they all do. It will consume and corrupt the other fragments. When the other Rejoinings occur, we will have an aether-hungry voidsent with the strength of a _complete_ soul and we will have lost Lukos. Why, by His will, did you even think this was a feasible plan?”

“Because we cannot allow those fragments to be lost!” Emet-Selch growled, stopping in his tracks to face the white-robed Ascian. “What if everyone—what if _He_—cannot be restored unless we find a solution to the catastrophe that is the Thirteenth? ‘Tis far better to try the experiment on a smaller scale before attempting it en masse. If any of the sundered souls could achieve this, it would be that of Lukos.

“By beginning the experiment now, we can observe the long-term effects of a Voided fragment interacting with its counterparts. He should only grow stronger with each subsequent Ardor and more easily stave off the effects of his corresponding voidsent. We can reevaluate the situation when only the Thirteenth remains. By then, we will have enough data to determine our course—and a perfect specimen in the form of Lukos’ soul.”

Elidibus seemed to consider the argument. After a moment, he nodded, opening a rift behind him.

“Should he begin to succumb to the voidsent’s influence at any point—”

“I will kill him, myself,” Emet-Selch interjected.

And start over, but what the Emissary doesn’t know, won’t prompt another lecture. Elidibus vanished through the rift, leaving Emet-Selch to his walk.

Night had long fallen by the time Solus pyr Galvus stumbled through the gates of the castrum. Emet-Selch had hindered the development of symptoms until he was within view of the fortress, to make sure the vessel didn’t collapse on the walk and to give them all the details of his affliction.

And so, when the guards ran to the fallen decurion, they found the man to be pale, clammy, and feverish. They swiftly carried him to the medicus, who diagnosed the symptoms as belonging to the unknown venom used by the Jackals. He gave Solus three days, at most, and hid him away in a private room after stripping him of his armor.

Everything _burned_ despite his vessel shivering under the blanket. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to wrap the blanket around himself or throw it to the floor in an attempt to cool off. His dark brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his vision swam whenever he opened his eyes, and every few minutes—or at least it _felt_ like it—his body tried to empty the contents of his stomach into the bucket the medicus had left him. 

Emet-Selch collapsed back onto the mattress after one such attempt, arm draped over his eyes and nose tucked into the crook of his elbow. He had remained in most of his vessels through to their deaths, so he was familiar with the process. _This_ experience mirrored it too closely for comfort. Perhaps he had miscalculated the strength of the venom.

The Ascian groaned into his arm. He knew why he had picked Garlemald as his next pet project, but why did the people have to be incapable of manipulating _aether_?! His current existence would be so much better if only he could freely use a little bit of magic.

A hand carefully took his wrist and lowered his arm to rest it on his stomach. A cool, damp washcloth dabbed his face before being folded and placed on his forehead. Emet-Selch hesitantly opened his eyes. His dark eyebrows furrowed together at who he saw sitting beside his bed in the dim light of a lamp.

A near-perfect copy of his current vessel watched him from the chair he didn’t remember being there when he was carried into the room. The sole difference was the Garlean’s dark purple hair that fell to his shoulders in loose waves. A name sprang to his mind. His twin smiled as if in response to it; his pale gold eyes glittered in the lamplight.

“Hello, brother,” he said in his typically soft-spoken manner. 

His warm smile faltered for a moment before his finger came up to thoughtfully tap on his chin. 

“You did it again. You made me self-aware.”

Emet-Selch couldn’t recall creating the shade—much less the thoughts running through his mind when it had happened. Was the venom affecting his creation magic? His twin tilted his head.

“I don’t think so. Focusing on what the original knew about your talents, it seems my creation was more instinctive this time. It may be that a part of you wanted to see him.” 

A dull ache stabbed through his soul. It brushed against the scar, magnifying the pain into one he easily recognized: yearning.

“Ah, you miss him. I suppose that would do it. Seeing Lukos’ broken soul would have brought some of those old memories to the forefront.”

The shade leaned over and lightly took hold of his hand. The cool touch soothed his burning skin as his twin stroked it. Emet-Selch eased his eyes shut, idly noting his shivering was slowly coming under control.

“Don’t worry; I’ll remain until you see fit to dissipate me,” the shade whispered.

The soft humming of music Emet-Selch hadn’t even _thought_ of in millennia reached his ears. It wrapped him in a warm memory and lulled him to sleep.


	2. Nobody

Not a sound was made at the Garlean Emperor’s impeccably laid table. His eldest son sat to his right, with his youngest son beside him. At the opposite head of the table, sat his wife, helping their youngest maneuver a forkful of roast meat to his mouth. Their second child, a daughter, sat to her mother’s right and sullenly picked at the food on her plate.

Solus zos Galvus finished the food on his plate and leaned back in his seat to finger the stem of his wine glass. A servant appeared to take the empty plate and vanished back into the shadows lining the edges of the dining room. His focus settled on his daughter as she finally poked her fork into a chunk of meat and brought it to her mouth. Without prompting, his Sight let him see the way her washed out soul twisted and furled with some hidden emotion.

About two centuries after the Sundering—when he, Elidibus, and Lahabrea became fully aware of the changes it had wrought—Emet-Selch chose to distance himself from the fragments with which he interacted. He would carry out his plans, bed the mortals, and sire or birth children as needed, but he refused to let himself grow attached to the pitiful wretches. There had been some exceptions over the millennia, however, and he regretted them each time. Somewhere in the pit of his unsundered soul, he felt this would be one of  _ those _ lifetimes.

Before he could ask his daughter what troubled her, he forced his attention to his eldest. The boy was tall for his age and had inherited his mother’s golden hair along with Solus’ pale yellow eyes. His mother had lovingly nicknamed him their golden child upon birth. 

Solus’ gaze drifted to the stern-faced Empress silently eating opposite him while keeping one of her blue eyes on their youngest child. The boy looked more like his sister than his brother—brown-haired like his father, but with his mother’s blue eyes. 

His wife for this lifetime had been carefully selected. The woman was of a lower class than his vessel, but had a singularly ruthless nature that proved useful. He personally handled the politics of the country while she took care of the societal aspects with his input. Quite a few of his more troublesome opponents had vanished under mysterious circumstances, much to his public-facing dismay.

A smile threatened to curl his lips as he took in the woman and his children. It brought to mind what could have been—what very nearly  _ had _ been. If only…

Shouts from outside shattered the silence in the dining room. The children froze at the sudden interruption, worry and fear coalescing within them. His wife raised an eyebrow and tried to catch his eye, but he instead glanced at the two guards stationed at the door. He nodded and they vanished into the hallway to investigate. Another hand gesture to the remaining four guards in the room had them ushering the children out of the opposite door. His wife stubbornly remained behind, despite his glare as the sounds of a scuffle reached them.

Moments later, a shout rose above the rest.

“Then stop  _ trying _ to arrest me, you shitheels, and take me to His Radiance!”

Solus raised an eyebrow while the woman made a likely irrelevant comment. Focusing his senses, he lazily turned in his seat as if he were expectantly looking at the door. Instead, his eyes scanned what they could of the nearby hallways, searching for the intruder’s aether. 

His heart stopped at what he saw: the watered down hue of an emerald soul with flecks of pale—nearly white—gold. Light faintly suffused the familiar soul, confirming his initial thoughts. 

Ancient memories flooded his mind. The sound of warm laughter. A mischievous smile twisting well-known lips. Pale gold eyes that lit up with anticipation. Gentle words and even softer caresses followed by teasing kisses.

His soul  _ ached _ ; the pain concentrated around the crystalized scar running down its surface. Their paths hadn’t crossed since…

“Allag,” Solus murmured under his breath.

Hands gripped the edge of the table until knuckles turned white. Part of him wanted nothing more than to rush out into the hallway, greet this incarnation with open arms, and spirit them away to explain his plans over a cup of tea and see how they could be of use. It would be like the old days—the two of them working in tandem and drawing society up to new and dizzying heights.

Darkness lanced through him, seizing his soul and mind. He closed his eyes against the wave of emotions that swept through him. Reminders of what  _ he _ had done—of his  _ betrayal _ —engulfed Solus. Anger swelled within his chest and threatened to burst until he managed to grapple his emotions and stamp them back down to a typical, numb pain.

Solus suddenly wanted nothing more than to vanish into the void and  _ sleep _ until the next Calamity.

A hesitant, but expectant, voice made the Emperor open his eyes. One of his guards waited by the open door. At Solus’ request, the man repeated himself: a foreman from one of the ceruleum plants had broken into the palace. The guard asked what they should do with the intruder.

The Empress immediately, and forcefully, ordered the guard to jail them, but stopped when Solus glared at her.

“Last I checked, dear wife,  _ I _ am the Emperor of Garlemald. Do not forget your place,” he reprimanded coldly before addressing his guard. “Bring in the foreman.”

The guard saluted and stepped through the door only to return a moment later with two more soldiers and a woman in handcuffs between them. One of the guards shoved her forward so she fell to her knees before Solus, who sat up and raised an eyebrow at the familiar way her soul spiked in anger. The Garlean woman brought her cuffed hands up to brush stray strands of her dark brown hair out of her face, but kept her gaze trained on the floor in front of her. 

Solus leisurely shifted his chair so it faced the kneeling woman. One leg crossed over the other and his hands steepled in his lap as he watched her. When no movement was made on the woman’s part, he released a breath as a long, drawn-out sigh.

“After spending all this effort to get my attention, you sit there and  _ bore _ me. I suppose you require a prompt. Very well, try this: what has driven you to break into the imperial palace?”

The woman finally lifted her gaze while curling her body down to make herself smaller. For a second time that night, Solus’ breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were the same shade of green as the  _ original _ soul—and these burned with familiar emerald fury.

“It was the only way to gain an audience with His Radiance,” she explained. “I’ve been trying the official channels for the past few weeks, but have been denied each time. I’m desperate and I’ll be  _ damned _ if I let any of my boys die to someone else’s stubborn ignorance.”

He tilted his head, sincerely curious to hear more.

“Bravo foreman, you have regained my interest. What is your name?”

The woman shook her head, freeing the dark strands of hair she had tried to tuck behind her ears.

“It doesn’t matter; I’m nobody. I’m only here so that something can be done about the factory I oversee and those half-brained idiots claiming to be engineers.”

Typical.  _ He _ would have answered the same way. The realization made Solus’ lips quirk into a smirk while his heart pulsed painfully.

“Very well, Nobody. Tell me of the problem in your plant.”

The foreman launched into her story. Some weeks ago, she began having nightmares. In them, part of the machinery failed due to strain, exploding and killing the workers in the area. After the third nightmare, she checked the site herself and located the piece predicted to fail. She confirmed it with the men who worked in that section, who all reported the part would consistently make a strange noise. 

When she addressed the concern with the engineers in charge of the plant, they dismissed her as overreacting. Not to be dissuaded, she went to their superiors, but was also turned away. So it went until—in an act of desperation—she settled on speaking with the Emperor himself. No audience was granted, leaving the woman no choice but to break into the palace in the hopes of being brought before him.

_ Suffering from visions. Fiercely protective. This truly  _ ** _is_ ** _ his fragment,  _ Solus mused.

He held the silence for a few minutes, waiting to see if the woman would squirm under his direct attention like so many others. Emerald eyes resolutely held his golden gaze. Solus caught the way her soul spiked at his lack of response as if readying for a fight—the same way  _ his _ soul used to whenever he actually grew serious.

The Ascian’s creation magic responded to the dull, throbbing pain in his soul as it so often did. A shade that could pass as his current vessel’s identical twin were it not for his long, dark purple hair, appeared in the corner of the dining room. Past experiences told Emet-Selch it was visible only to him. 

The shade approached the kneeling woman and tilted his head as he leaned over to inspect her, long hair falling like a curtain to conceal his face. Without straightening his back, the shade turned his head to look at Emet-Selch through the strands of wavy hair.

“You trust this incarnation, don’t you,” his twin observed. “Why make her suffer with your silence?”

A thought flashed through his mind before he could fully grasp it. While the sentiment tugged at his heart, the shade gave him a warm smile and finally straightened to his full height.

“Of course I’ll stay with you for now. You know very well that I won’t leave until you dismiss me.”

Solus recovered enough to smirk at the woman. Her eyebrows twitched upwards and her eyes slightly widened before she returned to her previous determined stare.

“I suppose this warrants a personal inspection,” he drawled. “It wouldn’t do to have something so integral to the good of Garlemald explode, would it?”

He pointed at the guard who had forced her forward.

“Free her. Nobody will need to show me where to find this fault.”

“Husband! You can’t seriously believe this—”

“Did I ask your opinion,  _ Wife _ ?” he spat the title out like a curse, freezing the Empress in place. “Tend to the children. Assure them everything is well and that I will return shortly to bid them sweet dreams.”

His wife obediently—albeit reluctantly—curtsied at the dismissal before turning to leave through the door on the other side of the dining room. A silent cock of Solus’ head in her direction sent a guard after her. The Emperor turned his gaze back to the foreman, mouth agape and still on her knees despite being released from the handcuffs.

Upon noticing she had the man’s attention again, the brunette dipped her head forward until her forehead touched the marble floor.

“Thank you, Your Radiance! You do me a great honor.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, Nobody. A price will be paid if this is nothing more than a waste of my precious time.”

He flicked the fingers of one hand upwards, prompting the woman to stand and lead them out.

With one guard in tow, Solus followed the foreman out of the imperial palace. He redirected the woman to a waiting magitek-powered carriage. Once inside, he ordered her to give the driver directions to the ceruleum plant.

They rode in silence. Solus watched the snow-lined streets fly past through the carriage window. Despite his apparent disinterest, he felt the woman’s eyes sweep over him from where she sat, facing him on the other side of the carriage. As her inspection of him continued, he realized the guard must be distracted; he made a note to switch the man out for another upon his return to the palace.

Solus let his gaze slowly drift over to the green-eyed brunette. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his twin’s shade appear on the seat next to her. The woman made no attempt to hide what she had been doing. Instead, she boldly looked him in the eye. Her jaw shifted as if she was about to speak, but stopped herself. Solus subtly tilted his head to one side to grant her permission.

“May I ask a question of His Radiance?”

“Nobody may,” he smirked.

Her eyes widened in confusion before the nickname seemed to click. The shade beside her smiled at the same time her lips curved to match the gesture. Solus tensed his jaw upon witnessing the twin expressions before his eyes.

“Why did His Radiance choose to believe me?” she asked, skepticism tingeing her voice. “Of all my actions, what I did tonight seemed the longest shot and yet it is the first one that worked.”

He glanced out the window and considered how best to answer the question. After a moment, he found it.

“You remind me of a friend from my youth,” he replied slowly. “He had a tendency to go to extreme lengths for those he perceived to be under his care—even so far as to risk his life for them.”

**_Betrayal! Traitorous coward turned his back on you when you needed him the most._** **_He sided with them—with _****_Her_****_!_**

Emet-Selch clenched his gloved hands into fists where they lay on his lap. His eyes locked themselves to the streets outside the carriage window as he tried to ignore the dark whispers in his heart.

A soft voice made him turn his gaze inward.

“Dearest Hades,” the shade whispered. “You know that isn’t true, don’t you? The original loved you too deeply to turn away from you.”

To his instinctive disgust, doubt flashed through Solus. The shade frowned and his shoulders slumped downwards—he had never seen that strong a reaction from the creation. Beside the shade, much to his surprise, he caught the woman studying him with tears threatening to fall down her face. He silently raised an eyebrow, prompting her to hurriedly dry them away with the back of her coat sleeve. 

“I did not expect to touch you with those words,” he noted.

“I did not expect the words of His Radiance to touch me, either,” she confessed. 

_ Could these fragmented being be rejoined enough to remember?  _ he wondered, easing his hands to lie flat on his thighs as he returned to looking out the window.

“It’s unlikely,” the shade mused. “They are not even halfway rejoined yet. If memories  _ do _ return, it would likely occur when they’re closer to whole.”

_ But her reaction… Hearing about  _ ** _him_ ** _ resonated with her.  _ A strange feeling blossomed in his chest at the thought and battled against the darkness that had taken root there.  _ Perhaps if I told her more about him, it would strike more chords. She might remember that time long ago. And if she can remember… _

The carriage slowed to a stop. The driver announced they had arrived despite Solus very clearly seeing the entrance to the darkened factory through the window. The footman opened the door for him, but Solus invited the woman to step out first with a flourish of his hand. The guard climbed out after him.

The foreman led him inside; the guard followed close behind. Solus ordered the man to wait near the entrance to the plant. The guard hesitated, but saluted and took his post in front of the door. Nobody turned on the lights and led the Emperor further into the factory.

A decent walk followed by a lift ride down two floors and ending with another short walk found Solus with Nobody in front of, what would seem to anyone else, a tangled web of conveyor belts, tubes, and vats. As the mind behind the chaos however…

His eyes swept over the machinery with an experienced gaze. One eye narrowed when he caught a discrepancy between his original blueprints and what lay before him. Rather than address it, he turned to the woman beside him.

“Where is the problem?”

Not for the first time that evening, the woman brazenly stared into his eyes with open skepticism. Her arms crossed as he felt something bubble beneath his set expression.

“Something tells me His Radiance has already noticed, but I’ll play His game.”

With practiced ease, the Garlean swung herself over the edge of the platform they were on and slid down a ladder to the ground floor of the section. The shade vanished from his side and reappeared behind her, calmly following the woman as she picked her way through silent, suspended machinery. The foreman paused to look back up at him.

“If His Radiance wishes to see, then He will have to follow,” she called back.

Solus smirked to himself and made a grand show of carefully climbing down the ladder. The woman waited for him to reach her before continuing a few steps to the set of gears he had noticed moments earlier. 

“This is what fails in my dream. I’ve checked them while the factory’s running and they work well enough, but this gear vibrates strangely,” she said, tapping said part for emphasis. “The boys have mentioned that it makes an odd keening sound they’ve never heard from other areas of the factory. If you look on  _ this _ side, the welding’s wrong, too. It’s not as even as it should be. I’ve also witnessed that transporter arm stutter under weight that it should be more than capable of lifting. We’ve asked permission to take it apart to inspect it, but the higher ups say we’re just trying to get a break from work.”

The shade hummed thoughtfully while Solus leaned in close and inspected the gears and the welding. He ran a hand over the latter, biting back a grimace. Aether fed into the machine at his touch, running a quick diagnosis and confirmed his suspicions.

“It was installed incorrectly,” murmured the shade, voicing the Ascian’s unease.

“And it’s been running for the better part of a year now,” Solus completed aloud. “We’re lucky there hasn’t been an accident sooner.”

He turned on his heel and locked eyes with the shorter Garlean. 

“Does Nobody have engineering training?” he asked.

She faltered before hesitantly responding.

“Only what I’ve managed to pick up through practical application, Your Radiance. I’ve always been good with my hands and a quick learner.”

Solus smiled at the response, and the continuing resemblance to  _ him _ . He hid the expression behind a gloved hand that came up to cover his mouth as he reflected on her words—as if he hadn’t already come to a conclusion.

“Well…” he drawled. “I suppose Nobody will need training if she is to be promoted.”

Her jaw dropped. The shade smiled and hummed approvingly. Solus fashioned a stern look and lowered his hand to reveal it.

“Don’t think it comes without expectations,” he added. “Once your training is complete and you are fully situated in your new position, I hope to hear of improvements made to this ceruleum plant which may then be implemented in others.”

The woman dropped into a low bow.

“His Radiance is too kind! I will strive to meet and surpass His expectations.”

He permitted himself a fond smile at the back of her head.

_ I look forward to it, _ he thought and motioned for her to lead the way out.

Solus ordered the ceruleum plant be shut down the following morning for inspection. The chief engineer shifted uncomfortably as the Emperor and Nobody waited in his office for the report. Occasionally, the chief engineer would glance suspiciously at the foreman, who willfully ignored him to gaze out the window overlooking the ground floor of the factory.

The inspector returned with his report and informed the Emperor of the defect he already knew. The chief engineer turned various shades of red and purple, spitting accusations like venom and pointing a finger at the calm foreman. 

Solus smirked. The man had just made his next step easier.

He stripped the Garlean of his position and ordered him jailed. As the guards dragged him away, he sent for one of his personal engineers. The man would temporarily hold the position while the current foreman completed her training to take his place. The woman was still shocked by the proposal, but handled it better than the night before. Solus took his leave with a dismissive wave, reminding Nobody that he would keep a close eye on her progress.

True to his word, Solus began requesting weekly updates. The first time he asked for an update on “Nobody” caused no small amount of confusion among his engineering corps, but they soon came to understand what their emperor meant—they had been hand-picked for a reason, after all. Weeks passed and the reports were favorable. 

After six months of work, she took the position of chief engineer in her ceruleum plant. Much to Solus’ delight, she improved production practically overnight. He ordered her changes be implemented in ceruleum plants across the empire and extended an invitation to join his personal engineering corps. She initially declined the offer, citing her wishes to remain at the plant, but conceded at his insistence. 

Despite the nagging warning in the back of his mind, Solus decided to learn more about the woman following her entry into his engineering corps. According to his spies, she was originally from a provincial village and had moved to the capital some years back. She lived alone in the poorer part of the city with a dog for company and had a close rapport with the men working at her original factory. 

Solus decided that simply would not do. He arranged a better home for the woman closer to the engineering corps office. The morning after the arrangement was finalized, a message arrived from Nobody requesting an audience. Presuming the reason for the request, Solus agreed and invited the woman to the palace that afternoon. 

It was a rare moment of clement weather in Garlemald; Solus decided to take full advantage of the sunshine and clear skies to take his work outside. His wife joined him with their youngest son since the older children were with their tutors. Although typically more focused on his work, Solus found himself distracted by the woman as she sat nearby reading to their son. 

A memory leapt forward, accompanied by a single thought. He clenched his eyes shut and pushed both away before the pain could take root. The Emperor set aside his quill and rubbed his hands over his face.

_ I cannot take another blonde for a wife _ , he decided, pinching the bridge of his nose.  _ Nothing but trouble and distractions. Don’t know why I bothered, anyway. Not like any of them will be anywhere near as— _

The sound of footsteps on the balcony interrupted what promised to be a lengthy mental tirade. Solus glanced up to find a guard leading Nobody up to the table he had claimed as his workspace.

_ Ah, but hope is a tenacious creature,  _ he thought with a smirk while motioning to a chair.  _ And  _ ** _he_ ** _ was ever the optimist. _

The woman refused the offered seat. Instead, she remained standing with her arms crossed. He idly shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair.

“How nice of Nobody to join us,” Solus noted. “Shall we exchange pleasantries or jump right into the reason for your audience?”

“His Radiance knows  _ precisely _ why I’m here,” the woman hissed, slapping a letter onto the table. “I cannot accept this. It’s far too much.”

Solus became faintly aware that his wife stopped reading to their son and felt her full attention on him. He ignored her by keeping his eyes on the brunette in front of him and raised his voice to address everyone present.

“Leave us. I would speak to Nobody in private.”

Keeping his gaze trained on the woman, Solus waited until he sensed the area was clear before continuing.

“Rather than view it as too much, why not see it as an investment? That  _ was  _ the entire reason I chose to promote you, after all. You have talents I would see put to use for the sake of my empire. That I would have you live closer to where you work is simply a matter of efficiency—no more, no less.”

Spikes sprang out of the surface of her soul. Solus smiled at the sight.

“It’s  _ more _ than that! The others have started  _ talking _ . They’re insinuating that there is a  _ reason _ for my sudden advancement from foreman to part of His Radiance’s engineering corps. They accuse me of being a fake—of getting my designs from someone else.” Tears welled up in Nobody’s deep green eyes. “They say the only reason I was promoted was for your  _ ease of access _ . I’m apparently nothing but your latest distraction!”

The sight of the crying woman stabbed deeper into Solus than whatever rumors the mortals could have created about him. Something inside him broke and dredged up feelings he thought long buried.

Within a single beat of his vessel’s heart, he rounded the table and wrapped his arms around the woman. Nobody buried her face into the fur trim of his jacket, letting her tears flow freely. He cradled her in his arms, gently shushing and rocking her from side to side. Before he could stop himself, Solus pressed a soft kiss to her temple while a hand stroked her back. 

“Jealous words, dearest Nobody,” he whispered. “Naught but the words of jealous men intimidated by your potential. I will not have you doubting your worth due to their insecurities; I will see to it that these unfounded rumors are stopped.”

Nobody shook her head and pushed herself out of his arms while wiping her face with her sleeves.

“It would only make things worse,” she mumbled before taking a deep breath to steady herself. “That is also why I cannot accept the home His Radiance wishes to provide for me. I ask that He lets me earn it through my own means—along with any future favors He wishes to grant me.”

Solus nodded.

“As Nobody wishes,” he ceded in a soft voice. 

The woman hesitated at his concession. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as they took in his face before locking gazes with him. Solus actively fought against the impulse to bridge the distance between them just to hold her again. 

_ She isn’t  _ ** _him_ ** _ . The fragmented thing in front of me is not Daeus,  _ he reminded himself.  _ It might be one day, but not this current incarnation. _

He raised an eyebrow as his typical expression fell into place as comfortably as his old mask. 

“If that is all, then Nobody may leave,” he said. “The guard will show you out. Tell him to inform my wife she may return with our son.”

Nobody blinked away the tears and dipped into a bow with a quiet “Yes, Your Radiance”. He watched her leave before returning to his work.

Despite his assurances, Solus was determined to discover the source of the rumors regarding the relationship between Nobody and himself. His best spies, however, returned empty-handed—much to his frustration. They found multiple threads, but each one led to a dead end. He eventually dropped it in favor of putting them to use elsewhere. In an attempt to help lessen the rumors, he kept his distance from the woman, addressing her only in official settings or in the presence of others.

Months passed wherein Solus worked on expanding Garlemald’s borders. To that end, he commissioned his engineers to design warmachina that would give them an advantage over the other races. The Emperor looked over, approved, and pushed his engineers for more with each successive design. 

Nobody, he noted with nostalgic delight, seemed to prefer designing flying machina. It was only logical, considering how much  _ he _ enjoyed flying when he discovered a way to give himself wings. Solus eagerly looked forward to her concepts and those she created in conjunction with one other—highly promising—engineer by the last name of Garlond. Seeing the potential in their continued teamwork, he encouraged them to work together on future endeavors.

Two years later saw Garlemald’s technology improved by leaps and bounds. The Emperor was primed to begin enacting his plan to bring the other continents under his rule. His children were doing well in their studies and would be ready to take over once he allowed his vessel to die. It had been nearly a decade since he had caught even a  _ glimpse _ of Elidibus’ aether, meaning the bothersome Emissary was well and truly staying out of his hair this time around. Things were going perfectly.

Then a wrench dropped into his machinations.

It started subtly. Solus was on a routine visit to his engineering corps to inspect their work when he noticed someone was missing.

“Where is Nobody?” he asked.

“We don’t know, Your Radiance; she hasn’t reported in yet,” replied one of the others.

He openly blinked at the man while suppressing the sudden feeling of unease that welled up inside him.

_ This is unlike her. She’s too obsessed with her work to simply stay home. _

“Has anyone gone to  _ check _ on her?” he demanded.

No reply. 

Solus motioned to one of his guards, who vanished through the door with a salute. He pushed his concerns aside and nodded to the man who had been explaining his design for a fire-resistant fabric. 

The guard returned after what felt like an eternity of listening to inane proposals and designs. 

Nobody was dead; her body long cold. 

The news stole his breath. His vessel went numb and his hands shook. His jaw worked in silence, tongue reaching for words while pain flashed like jagged lightning through his soul. After some effort, Solus managed to issue a quiet order.

“I would know how she died.”

The guard saluted and left to carry out his wishes. 

The rest of the day went by in a haze of words and meetings. When evening fell, Solus excused himself from dinner in favor of retreating to his study. In the privacy of the dark room, he summoned a bottle of red wine and a glass from the aether. He settled into an armchair in front of the fire and drank, wallowing in the misery he had tried to ignore all day.

A knock interrupted his solitude about halfway through the bottle. Solus ignored it, clutching the bottle closer to his chest and shifting in place so his legs draped over the armrest. Another knock and he closed his eyes tight as he buried his face into the back of the armchair. 

_ Go away,  _ he pleaded.  _ Let me mourn. _

The door eased open.

“Husband?”

He remained silent.

The rustle of fabric announced his wife’s entry into his study. Her footsteps paused behind his armchair; the sound of unfolding paper reached his ears.

“A message arrived from the medicus,” she said. The restraint in her voice made his brows furrow together. “It seems your little pet was poisoned. Shall I order your spies to find the culprit?”

His hands tightened around the bottle at her eagerness to help. Carefully unfolding himself, Solus stood and faced the blonde Garlean. She bore her typical stern look, but something about her eyes…

He mutely held a hand out for the letter which she handed over. He skimmed over words, using the action as an excuse to open his other senses to the aether in the room. A quick scan marked everything as normal—except for the pure, unfettered  _ joy _ radiating from the soul in front of him. 

Solus slowly lifted his gaze to glare into the woman’s blue eyes.

“What did you do,” he demanded.

He had to admit, she at least had the decency to raise her eyebrows in mock confusion.

“What do you mean, Solus?”

The trembling returned to his hands—born of fury rather than shock.

“ _ What _ did you  _ do _ ,” he growled.

Her soul rippled with emotion as her eyes lit up.

“I have no idea what you mean to imply,  _ dear husband _ .”

Solus flung the bottle at the wall and rounded the armchair in a flash. He forced her against the bookshelves, wringing a pained cry from her lips. Fear finally found its way into her soul as her fingers wrapped themselves around his wrists.

“You. Had. Her.  _ Killed _ ,” he hissed. “Was it petty  _ jealousy _ that forced your hand? Do you have any idea, you  _ ignorant spiteful _ creature, how far back you’ve set my plans?!”

A trembling breath escaped the woman.

“What will you do? Kill me?” she asked. “What would the people say about their beloved Emperor murdering their Empress?”

Aether seeped out of Emet-Selch. Violet and dark red light flashed in the dimly lit room, drawing the mortal’s attention away from his glare. He grabbed her chin and made her face him with a deep growl.

“An ephemeral little gnat like you  _ would _ think that to be a punishment,” he snarled. “You will  _ suffer _ until you cry out to me, begging for Death’s welcoming embrace.”

His fingers dug into her jaw as he pressed his lips against her. He forced her mouth open before pouring his gathered aether directly into her, suffusing her body and soul with it. She tried to push him away, but his hands held tight until he felt his aether spill out of her. Emet-Selch released the Garlean and wiped his mouth with the back of a gloved hand while his aether receded into his vessel.

“Aether sickness is relatively unknown here due to Garlean genetics,” he explained as he watched her slide down to the floor. “What a shame that the few cases that have occurred here have gone untreated, meaning our doctors have no way of diagnosing you—much less helping you.”

Her eyes widened. Her hands reached out to him, but he took a step back. 

“We shall have to get you to bed, dearest  _ wife _ ,” he spat and snapped his fingers.

Darkness enveloped the pair.

It was easy enough to set the scene: an illusion here, some misdirection there, and a punctual servant who stumbled across the unconscious Empress outside of her chambers with a shadow running in the opposite direction. 

A guard burst into Solus’ study to find the Emperor nursing a bottle of wine in front of the fire. When informed of his wife’s condition, Solus rushed to their shared chambers to find her tucked into bed with her physician examining her. 

The woman cried out the moment she saw him and tried to scramble out of bed. The physician and his assistant held the Empress down as she weakly thrashed in their grip. Solus approached the bed for an explanation, which turned out to be about what he expected.

“Forgive me, Your Radiance, but it is too early to say what has befallen her,” the man confessed. “She’s having trouble focusing and nothing she says makes sense. I have drawn blood, however, and will run some tests. I will report when they are complete.”

“See that you do,” Solus murmured, turning his attention to a waiting servant. “Where are the children?”

“In their rooms, Your Radiance.”

“They are to hear nothing of their mother’s condition until we know more. They are also not to see her or enter this room. I will not risk the lives of my children in case this is something infectious.”

A chorus of “Yes, Your Radiance” sounded throughout the room, drowning out the Empress’ whimpered complaints. Solus sat on the edge of the bed and watched her try to squirm away from him. He caught one of her hands and gently—carefully—stroked it, feeding more aether into her at his touch. His wife struggled against his grip, but the assistant held her in place.

“Sir, I think we’ll need to restrain her.”

The physician nodded in agreement. Solus stood and watched them carefully tie the Empress to the bed. He affected a grimace and addressed the physician.

“Can you give her something to help her rest?” he asked softly. “I hate to see her like this.”

The physician fetched a vial and syringe from his bag. After injecting a dose into the Empress, he and the assistant waited to be dismissed. Solus did so with a wave as he returned to sitting on the edge of the bed. He brushed her sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead before kissing the spot just above her third eye. To all the world, he looked like a caring husband as he fed more of his dark aether into her already saturated body. She groaned at the sensation and turned her face away from him.

Solus stood from the bed and dismissed the servants for the night; he promised to call for them should anything change in her condition. 

The door closed behind the last servant. A glance at the door revealed two souls standing guard outside. Solus smirked to himself as he slowly removed his many layers of clothes, stopping at his undershirt and pants. He leaned over the Empress to ensure the drug had taken effect before pressing a finger to her temple.

“Not even in sleep shall you know peace,” he hissed into her ear and wove a spell to grant her nightmares. 

Satisfied that it had taken hold, he turned away from the woman on the bed. A swirling vortex of violet aether appeared before him. Without a second glance at his wife, he stepped through. 

The portal placed him in a dark alley wearing a thick, plain coat to protect him against the winter cold. His bare hands burrowed into the pockets in an attempt to seek warmth as he left the alley to find himself in the residential area surrounding the main commercial district. 

It had been a few years since he had last walked his current route, but his feet still knew where to go and his hands knew on which door to knock. A light turned on within the small residence before the door opened to reveal a female Elezen with shoulder-length brown hair. She gasped when her pale blue eyes landed on Solus and immediately stepped aside so he could enter her cozy home.

“Haven’t seen you in a good while, Stranger,” she said as he brushed stray snow out of his hair and removed his coat. “What brings you here tonight?”

Her voice was soft and melodic. It was what had first drawn him to her when her troupe performed their first play before the Emperor. The second was when he had noticed the faded hue of her aquamarine soul. Despite the dark whispers in his heart, he disguised himself and visited the actress in her changing room, beginning their strange relationship.

She took his coat and led him by the hand to a sofa near the fire. Tears were rolling down his face by the time he sat down. The curiosity in her eyes softened into concern as she drew him into her arms. The Elezen gently kissed the top of his head as he buried his face into her shoulder. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Solus broke it.

“I lost someone dear to me today,” he confessed in a thick voice. “I should have  _ known _ what would happen. I shouldn’t have… It was a mistake to… I…”

His words devolved into a quiet whine as fresh tears poured from his eyes. His fingers tangled themselves in the fabric of her dressing gown. The woman hugged him tighter, enveloping him in her warmth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Is there anything I can do to help, Stranger?”

“Hold me,” he pleaded quietly.

She agreed with a soft hum and laid back on the sofa, pulling him on top of her. He tucked his head under her chin as her arms circled him to hold him in place. Solus closed his eyes before allowing himself to relax in her embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Wanna join a discord packed with other people who like FFXIV fanfics? [ Here you go! ](https://discord.gg/EdYa4x9)
> 
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